Fire and Ice
by american-in-london
Summary: Cobert Holiday Fanfiction Exchange (2014): In the midst of the Second Boer War, Robert and Cora are embroiled in battle, both warring against formidable adversaries - and within themselves.
1. Epigraph

"Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice."

 _Fire and Ice_  
Robert Frost


	2. Part I: Ice (Cora)

_Early December 1900_

Cora sat near the small bed, her arms resting on its ornate railing as she watched Sybil fight the sleep that threatened to claim her. A low fire in the hearth crackled and flickered rapidly, its flames throwing shadows along the warm-colored walls. The golden glow that enveloped the space almost lulled Cora to sleep herself despite the early hour, and she found herself suppressing a heady yawn.

"Shhh, little love," Cora murmured. "Close your eyes and dream."

Standing and bending down, she kissed Sybil's forehead just as the girl's eyes fluttered closed. Cora's lips lingered on her daughter's skin until she pulled them away slowly, praying she didn't wake her from such tentative slumber. Smiling tenderly, she blew a kiss in Sybil's direction before turning to tiptoe out of the room. Precocious and gentle, her youngest was very much like Robert, but she was also strong-willed and passionate – like her spirited mama.

"She's fast asleep, nanny. Please alert me if she wakes," Cora spoke to the older woman waiting patiently outside the nursery.

"Of course, your ladyship," Nanny Thomas replied with a nod of her head.

"Thank you, nanny. Goodnight," Cora whispered before making her way down the corridor to the stairs, giggling to herself. Sybil's earlier pleas for a second bedtime story, her tiny voice begging in a Yorkshire accent, replayed over and over in Cora's ears. Sybil looked like her when she was a child – with her dark curls and clear blue eyes – but mother and daughter certainly sounded nothing alike. At times, she found Sybil's burgeoning accent charming, but at others, it served as a reminder yet again that Cora was an outsider, that she didn't belong in this world of country estates and green rolling hills.

Tonight, as she descended the stairs one graceful footstep at a time, her mood took a frightful turn, and she found herself sinking into the gray recesses of her mind, the thoughts she tried to keep at bay rising to the surface. Her sweet young daughters were English, born into the aristocracy – ladies by birth – but she was not. Cora was American with a Jewish father, a pariah even in her own country. Despite her marriage and her best efforts to overcome the rampant prejudice that infected the upper-class, she would always be a foreigner, held to a higher standard than those around her and judged unfairly for every choice she made.

Her cynical mother-in-law remained her harshest critic, even with Robert at war in the Boer republics. Cora had learned to shield herself from Violet's underhanded attacks long ago, but she had expected their icy relationship to thaw when Robert left. Unfortunately, his departure seemed to make her mother-in-law's unwanted comments more acerbic and far more prevalent – Cora's dresses were 'too garish,' and her accent, 'unrefined.' This constant barrage wore her down and left her especially vulnerable to Violet's strike over tea earlier that afternoon.

The Dowager had insisted Cora was 'pampering' the girls.

' _You indulge their every whim,' she chided. 'They'll be overly emotional, impetuous. Their sense of entitlement will trump any sense of duty. They won't understand the demands of this life, and when Edith runs off with a footman, you'll be the only one to blame.'_

Cora had dropped her eyes to the tepid liquid in her cup and settled herself more deeply into the settee. Like any mother, she could be frivolous and enjoyed spoiling her girls on occasion, but she took her role as their caretaker and guardian seriously, involving herself in every aspect of their day. Cora coordinated and often sat in with Mary's tutor during the girl's studies, she carefully planned her afternoon activities with Edith, and she poured over the library shelves choosing Sybil's bedtime stories.

In that moment, faced with Violet's easily roused ire, she had longed for Robert's fortifying presence, for him to come to her defense as he had countless times throughout their marriage, but he was a world away. Now, she was forced to face her greatest adversary single-handedly – along with all the others who questioned Robert's choice to marry some unknown American heiress.

Cora liked to think of herself as independent and self-assured, courageous in times of hardship, but she found great comfort in Robert's relished role as her protector, even from the beginning. During their short engagement, Cora had naively admitted to her future mother-in-law and a small collection of Crawley dinner guests she had never learned to ride as a girl in New York. Violet's huff and subsequent guffaw filled the drawing room, but unshaken by his brash mother, Robert smiled reassuringly and came to Cora's rescue, stating his 'lithe fiancée' was a born horsewoman and would take to it 'effortlessly' when he taught her to ride in the coming year.

True to his promise, only a handful of months into their marriage, he had taken her to the stables blindfolded, his hand low on her back as he guided her through the grass.

' _Robert, where on earth are you taking me? We've been walking for ages,' she whined in mock annoyance, her grin betraying her tone. If she could, she would walk with him like this forever. She loved these private moments and savored every tender touch, every whispered word spoken between them._

 _Robert chuckled. 'I promise your patience will be rewarded.'_

 _The two made their way down a small hill, and Cora gripped Robert's forearm tightly to keep herself from falling, her walking boots little match for the craggy ground._

' _Almost there,' Robert whispered against her cheek, his voice deep and gravelly, and she shivered in response._

 _Robert soon placed her gloved hands over something rough and damp and began removing her blindfold. He instructed her to keep her eyes tightly shut until he told her to open them, so she did as she was told, biting her lip to contain her glee when the silky fabric finally fell from her face. Robert rested his hands on her waist, and she took a sharp intake of breath when he leaned forward and kissed her neck and murmured, 'Now.'_

 _She exhaled slowly and opened her eyes to the blazing blue of the fierce spring sky. Immediately, she knew where they were – the round pen on the west side of the stables – and she discovered a magnificent chestnut horse staring at her curiously just a few paces away._

' _Robert?' she questioned, somewhat perplexed, as he rested his chin on her shoulder._

' _He's an exquisite Arabian gelding. Steady to mount, light in hand, safe and easy to ride. He has a joyous personality – light-hearted, a bit showy. Perfect for my wife.'_

 _She turned her head, blinking rapidly, her lips turned upward in a hesitant smile. 'Robert,' she spoke, awe and gratitude making her breathless. She searched his shining eyes and was greeted with mirth._

' _I promised to teach you, but I needed to find the right horse. And this lovely creature is the one.'_

' _So, he's mine?' Cora whispered._

 _Robert smirked. 'Yes, he's yours. And I hope you don't mind, but I've taken the liberty of naming him. I read once that Ulysses S. Grant rode his beloved horse Cincinnati to negotiate Robert E. Lee's surrender at Appomattox, and for some reason, that lone fact stuck with me. I thought it was a splendid and fitting name –'_

' _His name is Cincinnati?' Cora spoke, almost inaudibly. Her heart was so full of love she thought her chest might burst. She wanted to throw her arms around Robert's neck and kiss him openly and without reservation, but her traitorous hands lay heavily on the fence. His gesture stunned her. It was sweet and thoughtful and – dare she think it – romantic._

' _Yes, Cincinnati. Why don't I introduce you two properly, and we can start your lessons tomorrow afternoon?'_

She had taken to riding with ease, Robert commenting several times how natural she looked poised on Cincinnati's back as he cantered about in the round pen. Only a few weeks later, the two ventured out on their first real ride together, and it quickly became a favorite excursion. The months that followed brought on Robert's confession of love, and their rides focused increasingly on the destination, usually somewhere secluded and far from her mother-in-law's prying eyes. But she never enjoyed the rides any less, and now, they were a way for Cora to feel close to Robert, which is exactly what she needed tonight – to escape the Abbey walls, leave her melancholy thoughts behind, and relish in happy memories of her faraway husband.

Cora shook her head swiftly, knocking herself out of her reverie, to find she was poised on the staircase, facing forward with her arms dangling listlessly at her sides. How long she had she been standing there, she hadn't the faintest idea.

"Your ladyship? Are you quite alright? Can I get you anything?" Carson's booming voice rang out in the Great Hall, startling her.

"Ah, Carson," she spoke quietly, "you're precisely the man I was hoping to find."

"What can I do for you, my lady?" he asked somewhat perplexed, his dominant eyebrows furrowing in center of his forehead. He worried often about the young mistress of the house.

"If it's not too much trouble, might you send word to the stables? Please tell Henry to saddle up Cincinnati. I'd like to go on a late night ride."

"Of course, your ladyship. The snow finally relented, but the temperature has fallen considerably." Carson was uneasy with the prospective of her riding alone late at night, concern evident in his voice. But he knew any attempt to stop her would be improper.

"That sounds perfect actually," Cora replied. "My own winter fairyland."

"Whatever you wish, your ladyship. Would you like an escort? I think perhaps – "

"No," Cora interjected staunchly, then noting Carson's flinch, amended her tone. "I'd like to be on my own tonight. Thank you for your concern, Carson – I do appreciate it. Could you send Evans to my room please?"

"Yes, yes," Carson answered as she twisted abruptly and threw another "thank you" over her shoulder as she ascended the stairs at a hurried pace.

Within an hour's time, she was galloping through the inky black night atop Cincinnati, heading in no particular direction across the vast estate. The horse's hooves battered the hardened ground and threw a glorious cloud of shimmering white dust behind them. The pair zigzagged between battered tree trunks and snow-covered branches, Cora ducking to avoid icicles gleaming in the moonlight. Her lungs seized with each labored breath, her cheeks bright pink and achingly numb. She could scarcely feel her slender fingers inside her gloves, but there was something invigorating about the brisk winter air. It was fresh and clean and sought to distract her from the worries circling inside her head: Could she raise her English daughters properly? Would she ever belong at Downton, in the once distant land she called her home? Could she withstand a lifetime of Violet's incessant nagging and the spiteful criticism of her peers?

But these worries, once cleared away by the cold December wind, revealed the fear that drove them, the reality she buried deep within herself and tried desperately to ignore since the day Robert left for Africa. It wasn't simply that she worried about raising her daughters to be proper English ladies – she was terrified she would do it as a widow, as an American woman without her British husband. It wasn't simply that she was worried about being a 'foreigner' in her adopted country – she was frightened because she was only 'home' with him. And it wasn't simply that she was worried about defending herself and her breeding time and time again – she was filled with dread because he may never again stand by her side, gripping her hand in reassurance.

Would she, could she, survive in a world where Robert didn't exist?

There were days when the fear he might not return engulfed her, suffocated her – days when her heart threatened to stop beating inside her chest, when she felt the loss of his presence so acutely she would willingly go into battle herself for a glimpse of his handsome face. On those days, she barely had enough energy to rise from her bed, to eat and dress, let alone play the role of the dutiful Lady Grantham, but she did. Locked in a haze, she ghosted through social calls and committee meetings – nodding, smiling, and laughing with practiced ease – and always carefully concealing the despair that threatened to swallow her whole.

Yet there were other days when she felt strong and capable, when she believed wholeheartedly, without doubt or reservation, he would return to her unscathed. She had no choice but to be hopeful, to be courageous and resilient, in the presence of their three innocent daughters. Mary, Edith and Sybil were too young to understand their father's absence. Cora needed to be a loving, guiding hand, to push aside her fears and charge bravely into each new day, and for them, she could do that. They filled her with fortitude, with confidence she never knew she had. One day soon, Robert would come strolling through the doorway in his dashing uniform and wrap her securely in his arms, and he would stay. She had to believe that for them.

Because Cora knew no one but the stable boy would see her, she asked Evans to leave her hair down for warmth, and her knotted curls tossed about in the wind, Cincinnati propelling her forward through the swirling snowflakes, a sky full of stars above her and below. The undisturbed blanket of downy powder glittered like a crystalline sea, and she found she could not contain her amazement, the beauty of Robert's Downton briefly distracting her from her introspection.

"How lovely," she muttered with a sad sigh as she slowed Cincinnati to a lazy trot.

Soon, she blinked and shook her head back and forth in disbelief as the pair came upon a small stone cottage. Hidden amongst the gloomy pines, the structure was illuminated only by the moonbeams reflecting off the freshly fallen snow. Pulling on the thick reins, she brought Cincinnati to a stop and jumped down to the ground, tying him to the nearest tree.

"I'll just be a moment, dear Cincinnati," she whispered against the horse's muzzle, rubbing her hand down his velvety hide as she walked towards the dilapidated structure, her brow furrowed. Although she had not intended to, she had ridden to a special place filled with almost as many wistful, romantic memories as her bedroom.

Isolated and remote, the little cottage was a favorite picnic spot and where she and Robert spent dozens of lazy afternoons, studying each other's naked bodies in broad daylight, learning how to please one another – discovering how to love. Cora removed the leather glove from her hand and ran her fingertips over the splintered door, fragmented flashes of sun-kissed encounters playing across her vision: Robert's eyelashes sweeping over his smoldering eyes, his reddened lips parting in anticipation of a kiss, his powerful hands gripping her waist and pulling her securely against him. She spotted a bench under a broken window and sank down onto it. With a ragged breath, she tugged her arms inside her coat and wrapped them around herself, prepared to wallow in these lovely, happy memories.

Today, she had felt strong until her wandering mind led her astray. Musings about Sybil's accent had somehow managed to direct her down a shadowy path of insecurity and fear, a path that she followed deep into the clear black night, searching for resolution. But there were no easy answers to the endless questions that tormented her and her grieving heart – except one.

Robert.

Oh, how she missed him!

She missed the sound of his soothing voice, the fluid roll of her name off his tongue: "Cora. Cora, my love." She could almost hear him now – the ease and flow of the syllables, his accent caressing each vowel and consonant. But she missed his presence most of all, the feel of him next to her – his weight drawing her towards the center of their bed as they slept, his heat warming her on a cold winter's night. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine his fingertips, scorching like a fire brand, roving over her bare hip. She could feel his hot breath caressing her neck, his scandalous proclamations threatening to set her skin aflame.

Seemingly of their own accord, her icy fingers pushed past the waistband of her skirt and delved beneath her undergarments to sink between her legs. A small, hollow voice questioned her actions: Did this make her weak? Was she defiling the purity of their love, the sanctity of their marriage? But she never allowed herself to entertain these harsh Victorian judgments for more than a moment.

She loved Robert. She desired him. She needed him. And, on this bleak winter's night, she would have him, even if only in the context of a half-forgotten memory, an embellished fantasy.

She rocked her hips against her hand, her delicate fingers finally slipping over her folds, and she gasped aloud. Oversensitive from months without her husband's attentions, the delicious pressure mounting between her thighs surged down her legs, rooting them to the ground, her muscles tense and quivering. She stroked herself gently at first as she sought some semblance of self-control, but nearly delusional with need, she gave herself over to her desires.

"Oh, Robert," she whimpered and frantically increased the speed of her movements.

 _The light from the blazing fire caressed his flushed skin, the oppressive heat wrapped snuggly around them. He hovered above her, perspiration gathering along his brow, as he painstakingly began placing kisses down her neck and across her chest. He slowed to lavish his attentions on her breasts, his tongue roving over her sensitive skin._

 _His hand traced down her side, moving over her abdomen and caressing her inner thigh. He touched her with such tenderness, such reverence. 'Cora. Cora, my love,' he whispered against her chest as he finally sunk his skilled fingers inside her, immediately moving them in a practiced dance. She rolled her hips against his hand and arched her neck. Within a few short moments, she was already at the edge of the abyss, her body prepared for the rapturous fall, but her heart demanded more._

 _Forcing herself to open her eyes, she reached down to cup Robert's cheek where he suckled her nipple, his forehead creased in concentration. He raised his gaze to hers as she searched for her voice, suddenly lost in the intensity of his darkened eyes._

' _Robert, I need you,' she whispered hoarsely._

' _Oh, darling, you have me,' he murmured and turned his head to kiss her palm. He slowed the motion of his hand between her thighs, his thumb seeking out the bundle of nerves that would make her come undone._

' _Please,' she choked. 'You. I need you.' She ran her trembling fingers through his damp hair and down his shoulder to his arm, gently prodding him upwards._

 _He leaned down to kiss her as he slipped inside her, and she moaned into his mouth._

With a sharp intake of breath, her body went rigid as her climax tumbled through her, exquisite pleasure and pain mingling in her veins.

She opened her eyes to the night, to the fog of her frozen breath in front of her face. The silence surrounding her was deafening, and she was overcome by tremendous loneliness, such a numbing sense of loss, she couldn't contain the waterfall of tears that sprung to eyes and coursed down her weathered cheeks. Her erratic heartbeat pounded in her ears.

She could pretend to be strong. No matter Robert's fate, she could always pretend for the sake of her children and their futures. She would play the role of the stoic English widow, but behind closed doors, she would grieve for him, for herself, and for all they could have been. And she would miss him – long for him always. She had loved him since the first time they made eye contact across that sweltering ballroom, and though the world might rip them apart, her love for him would never wane.

She finally stood and walked shakily towards Cincinnati, the snow crunching like broken glass beneath her boots. She wiped her tears away with her coat sleeve and slipped her hands back into her gloves, then easily mounted her gentle horse and took off toward the house.


End file.
